**A/N: I'll keep this short because I'm sure everyone is anxious to
actually read the chapter... or not, but I'm so so sorry for taking so long
to update! I hope you'll all forgive me... *Raises shield to block flying
rotten vegetables*
**Also, I have a mailing list for those who wish to be notified when I make an update to this story. If you haven't received an e-mail from me and want to be notified of changes in "Calathi" (or have been e-mailed and don't want to be) please send me an e-mail and I'll be happy to change the list! Thanks again everyone!
*****
Chapter Twenty-Six: Desolation
Legolas shoved the doors to his father's office open violently. "She's gone, Father! She's GONE!" Thranduil looked up from his seemingly never- ending stack of maps and scrolls and looked confusedly at his son. The younger elf's disheveled and alarmed appearance did not go unnoticed.
"What is it, Legolas?" he asked in concern.
"Calathi, Father... she's not in her rooms!" The elven prince stalked anxiously back and forth, running a trembling hand through his long hair and successfully pulling his neat braids apart.
"How can she not be? Did you not take her there last night?" The king stood and walked to his son, laying a hand on his shoulder to stop his pacing.
"I did, but..." his voice trailed off, and he took a deep, shaky breath before steadying himself. "Both her sword and her blanket are missing," he continued, more collected, as he stared into Thranduil's increasingly aware eyes. "I believe she left for Ilinar, Father."
Legolas wanted to kick himself as he stood in trepidation for the life of his bride-to-be. How could he have been so ignorant? It was blatantly obvious, to everyone but him it seemed, that Calathi was never one for taking situations lying-down, and yet he had still left her alone to do whatever she saw as necessary.
"I should have stayed by her side... she said that she did not need me, but I should have seen it in her eyes; it was there, I just did not look hard enough... why did I ignore it?!" His emotions bubbled over, raging beyond containment, and the Prince slammed his fist into a wall before Thranduil caught him and held him still.
"That is enough, son! What has occurred cannot be undone; we can only do what we believe is best to repair the situation." He released Legolas, who was still breathing heavily as he got his anger and frustration under control. The younger elf massaged his abused hand and looked grumpily at the floor, steeling his heart against the crushing realization that things may not end up as happily as he had planned.
"You may ride at midday," the King instructed, and Legolas' eyes lit up as he began to grasp what his father was saying. "Gather whatever warriors you see fit to accompany you, and the Captain and the rest of Mirkwood's soldiers will follow when the storm slows." Legolas nodded, slightly less anxious that he now had orders to follow and with which he could occupy his time.
"I shall remain at the palace as you check that region thoroughly for survivors and any indication of what exactly took place." He looked sternly at his son. "Do not take any offensive measures against the culprits, Legolas. Come straight back to the palace once you have found everything you need to know - and the future princess, of course - and then we shall decide upon further action. Is that clear?"
The Prince nodded urgently. "Of course, Father. I will return as soon as possible."
"Very well," Thranduil affirmed. "Notify me when you are prepared to depart. You are dismissed." He turned abruptly and exited the room to begin his task.
* * * * *
Legolas rubbed his face with his hands in frustration, waiting for his father to finish speaking with another elf of the party. He despaired more with each flake that fell from the sky - each was just another part of the world that was trying to come between him and the love of his life. "Why did she ever leave me?" he mumbled quietly, jumping as an encouraging hand touched his shoulder.
"You can answer that when we find her." The Prince turned and saw Telmon beside him, covered in snow, much in the same way that he himself was. Calathi's appointed mount had been discovered missing during the morning's preparations, and now he could only hope that she was at Ilinar and that they would reach her in time to save her. *Save her from what?* the Prince wondered. *Herself, perhaps, her impulsiveness, her grief...* he answered himself. *But there could be worse danger...*
He shivered - not from the cold, which bothered him little. The need to find his future wife fueled his efforts, more so even than the distant town's destruction. He hadn't known the elves there, and though he grieved after the loss of his kin and the friends and relatives of Calathi, his love still took priority over everything else.
Legolas didn't care how selfish it was; his feelings for her eclipsed all others, and only one mission pervaded his consciousness - the mission to find her, protect her, and love her until the end of time... his wife, soul- mate, and the mother of his future children. He had to smile at this thought, reminiscing on all of the failed attempts to consummate their love. The intense desire to finally accomplish that was still buried within his heart, and their impending marriage, along with the opportunity to officially make her his princess, were the only things he looked forward to more.
Telmon cleared his throat, startling the Prince from his trance. After realizing that he had completely forgotten about his subordinate, Legolas sighed, his consistently proud shoulders now drooping slightly. "I am sorry, Telmon," he apologized, shaking his head. "It's just... I do not understand why she went alone." The addressed elf raised his eyebrows at his leader's antics. "She knows that I would have gone with her, if she had only spoken with me."
"Would you have, My Lord?" Telmon inquired. "Or would you have kept the Lady here in order to protect her?" Legolas bit his lip, contemplating Telmon's statement. It was true enough - who wouldn't want to keep the person most precious to them out of harm's way?
The Elven warrior knew he had reached his companion, who was now pacing slightly, and he felt sympathy for his situation. "Do not fear, your Highness." Legolas stopped moving and looked at him, blue eyes desolate. "The Lady can take care of herself."
"I pray it is so," the Prince answered. He glanced up as Thranduil made his way over.
"Is everything in place?" the King asked his son as he surveyed the company. Legolas nodded, eager to begin travel.
"Very well. You may be on your way," he consented, nodding. The Prince let out a breath and turned, but Thranduil quickly grabbed his elbow and stopped him.
"Be careful son," he advised. "Stay alert."
"I will," Legolas promised, smiling at his father. The two quickly embraced in farewell. Then he gestured forward with his hand and the entourage of warriors proceeded out of Mirkwood Palace's gate, heading toward their destination of Ilinar with the Prince leading the way.
* * * * *
The elf fell onto the snow, staring in horror at the smoke rising into the air. The homes of her people were smoldering still, the stench of death filling her nostrils and fogging her mind. How could this be all that was left? It was only ruins, ruins and ash covered by dirtied ice.
Calathi pushed herself onto one knee and slowly straightened it, standing to face the tragic site before her. But where were the townspeople? There were no bodies to be found, only the smoking remains of what had been her home.
Her stomach clenched as a thought violently erupted in her mind. Of course, it was obvious - sickeningly so. The snow on the ground was deep... deep enough to cover the corpses. Either that, or the goblins had taken their leftovers for their own sadistic pleasure and foul purposes.
*It can't be true...* Calathi hadn't wanted to believe the messenger... what was his name? She couldn't even remember correctly... but now, the evidence was at last before her, and it could no longer be denied. Her town had indeed been destroyed, along with any hope of seeing her family and friends again.
In utter anguish, she sank to the ground once more, curling up tightly and moaning, unaware of Larape's frantic whinnying. Her mother, her father... Meron... all dead. Sobs tore at the elf's lithe form as she thought of her friend. It made her all the more guilty, realizing that she was mourning his death more than the deaths of her own parents.
But it was beyond that; Calathi now knew that she had loved - still loved - Meron, even if only as a friend or brother. In her times of torment, he had been there. In her times of rare happiness, he had been there. And now, he was gone... gone with everyone she had known before life at the palace had even begun.
Her thoughts wandered as she stood, dazed and weak, and eventually turned toward Legolas... it was amazing how that one name brought a ray of light through the black fog surrounding Calathi. She needed him, needed him so badly right now; if he were there, he'd put his arms around her, cradling her against his strong form; he'd give her comfort and warmth, strength to go on.
She loved him, with all of her soul. If anything, she was obligated to survive for him. He had to have realized by then that she wasn't at the palace, and would have guessed her incentive for leaving. In all probability he was on his way to Ilinar at that very moment... it was all she could hope for, and Calathi clung to that hope with her entire being.
Wiping the freezing tears from her cheeks, she forced herself to sit up. Larape nudged her gently, as if she were encouraging her. "Valar, give me strength," she whispered before rising once more. She had to escape the nauseating scene before her, and, sadly shaking her head, she grabbed the mare's reins and helped pull her atop the snow from where she had sunken into it.
Calathi held back more tears as she made her way to the one locale that had brought her solace during her childhood years. It was her hideaway, her own secret place where she could relax and let the hours pass. Perhaps she could find enough peace to sleep, burrowed beneath one of the great oak trees that surrounded the tiny grove. But first, she needed to say her farewells to the spirits of her loved ones - and where she was going was the only place to do it.
She stepped through a patch of dense undergrowth and sighed. There it was - her little creek, frozen solid now; the forked tree, dubbed the Sitting Tree, with its branches placed perfectly to lounge on and to swing from; the young oak that had been her first hit target, then but a sapling, after Meron had been teaching her how to use a bow... and now there would be no more fond memories created in this place, because Meron had left for the halls of Mandos without her.
She looked down at her hands, clenched into fists. *The only cause of my pain is the cruelty of the goblins,* she thought bitterly. *They murder our people and destroy our homes, looting towns, burning whatever is left... It has to end.* Confusion settled in her mind. Had Mirkwood's forces not destroyed the great goblin fleet? How, with only small factions left of their army, could the goblins overcome the town's defense? *What does it matter now?* she wondered, face bleak. Her gaze drifted up again to a rock where she'd sat so often in the sun, conversing and laughing with her companion.
"Meron," she whispered, swallowing her tears, "I'm sorry I left you. You were my best friend, the only person besides my parents that cared about me." Her voice was cracking, and pleading filled her eyes as she blinked rapidly to hold in moisture. "I'm so sorry, Meron... perhaps if I had stayed, I could have helped you and everyone else... If I had only argued with my father a little more to make my point, this might not have happened."
The wind picked up a bit, flitting through the forest to greet her, and it seemed almost as if she could feel her friend's soul leaving the mortal world. His voice floated with the breeze, calling her to him. The trees themselves began to murmur to her, vaguely at first but getting clearer by the second, saying "Go, go to him... he awaits your return."
"I wish I could," Calathi replied earnestly, looking to the sky as sobs began to tear at her throat. "But I cannot; I am bound to this world through the one I love."
So many forest voices joined in the whispers that she could hardly make out what they were telling her. But understand she did - "As is he..."
Her senses were suddenly acute, and time appeared to slow. A scent in the air reached her, and she jumped forward to find its source. Beneath the Sitting Tree, the elf gently brushed the foliage aside.
"Calathi," said a weak voice. Meron, lying on his back on the snow, opened his eyes.
She took in the sight of him, surveying his appearance. A bloody strip of gray tunic had been tied loosely around his shoulder; there were red stains on his torso - one on his stomach, the other near his collar bone. A nasty, scabbing gash was stretched across his cheek, and various scratches covered his bare arms.
"Limraer, please... don't cry." Feebly, he reached his better arm up to brush her cold cheek. He smiled faintly. "I did not think I would ever see you again."
"Nor I you," she whispered, fighting to calm her frenzied heart. Reaching to her neck, she unclasped her cloak and pulled it off, brushing the snow from his body and then wrapping it tightly about him. Steeling herself, she told him, "I'm going to get my pack. I have some food for you, if you think you can keep it down, and another blanket. Then I'll get a fire started and we'll see if we can warm you up a bit." She was about to stand when he grabbed her hand.
"Don't leave... I do not wish to be alone when I pass." He smiled again. "Now that I've seen you once more, I'm ready to go." Calathi shook her head vehemently.
"No! You're going to be all right, Meron." *You have to be!*
He shook his head and a pained expression appeared on his face, as though the slight movement had aggravated his wounds. "I've only survived this long because I intuited that you would come for me."
"Do not speak of such things!" Calathi ordered sternly. His unfaltering sense of death scared the wits out of her, and she really needed them to get through this. Yanking her hand away, she jumped up and rushed to the center of the grove where Larape still stood, waiting patiently. She grabbed her pack and then sprinted back to her fallen friend, yanking out her blanket. Meron watched with pitying eyes as she laid the blanket over her cloak.
"It is too late, lovely one," he told her again, sighing. "Do not fear for me... we shall meet again."
"NO!" she shouted, refusing to give up. Tears streamed from her blurring eyes as she struggled to clear a place for the fire. She pulled brittle branches down from the tree above them, silently apologizing to the ancient body.
A small fire was crackling shortly after, and then she turned her attention back to her friend. His eyes were drooping, and she knew that time was no longer on her side. "Please, mellonamin, I need you to survive this. Do it for me..."
With a flourish Calathi grabbed her cloak from underneath the blanket and began tearing it into strips with the help of her dagger. "I'll never forgive myself if you die because I forgot bandages," she muttered to herself, pouring the energy from her anger and frustration into the task.
A pile of cloth strips on the snow beside her, Calathi reached toward her friend and carefully cut the blood-stained fabric around his shoulder, peeling it back slowly. She grimaced when she saw that a deep gash ran along his collar bone and partway down his arm. It was bleeding freely again, and she hurriedly wrapped it tightly to lessen the flow of the sickening red liquid.
Lifting his tunic up to his shoulders, she examined the injuries on his chest. Calathi gasped when she saw that the flesh around the incisions was torn, a telltale sign that an arrow had been crudely pulled from his body. Pushing away an overwhelming sense of vertigo, she dug into the snow on both sides of Meron's body and found solid evidence to prove her suspicions true.
In her hand, as she lifted it from the snow, were two coarse arrows, bloody a quarter of the way up their long shafts from the tips. "You pulled them out yourself, didn't you, Meron?" she whispered, pained at the thought of her friend braving such torment. Shaking her head, she threw the arrows away from her and pulled her blanket over the unconscious elf.
Not much was left for the maiden to do, as the wounds on Meron's collar and stomach had ceased bleeding already, though she wrapped more of her cloth strips around his torso to prevent them from reopening. Her knowledge of healing verses was limited and would serve as little use to the injured elf. Still, when she checked his breathing and found it scarcely perceptible, she knew that every effort made a difference.
With one last prayer to Estë, spouse of Irmo and healer of hurts and weariness, she knelt before her dying companion and opened her mind to his pain, accepting it as her own. "Hold on, mellonamin..." she murmured before crumpling over him, trembling as she muttered the short healing chants that she could remember. *Hold on...*
**Also, I have a mailing list for those who wish to be notified when I make an update to this story. If you haven't received an e-mail from me and want to be notified of changes in "Calathi" (or have been e-mailed and don't want to be) please send me an e-mail and I'll be happy to change the list! Thanks again everyone!
*****
Chapter Twenty-Six: Desolation
Legolas shoved the doors to his father's office open violently. "She's gone, Father! She's GONE!" Thranduil looked up from his seemingly never- ending stack of maps and scrolls and looked confusedly at his son. The younger elf's disheveled and alarmed appearance did not go unnoticed.
"What is it, Legolas?" he asked in concern.
"Calathi, Father... she's not in her rooms!" The elven prince stalked anxiously back and forth, running a trembling hand through his long hair and successfully pulling his neat braids apart.
"How can she not be? Did you not take her there last night?" The king stood and walked to his son, laying a hand on his shoulder to stop his pacing.
"I did, but..." his voice trailed off, and he took a deep, shaky breath before steadying himself. "Both her sword and her blanket are missing," he continued, more collected, as he stared into Thranduil's increasingly aware eyes. "I believe she left for Ilinar, Father."
Legolas wanted to kick himself as he stood in trepidation for the life of his bride-to-be. How could he have been so ignorant? It was blatantly obvious, to everyone but him it seemed, that Calathi was never one for taking situations lying-down, and yet he had still left her alone to do whatever she saw as necessary.
"I should have stayed by her side... she said that she did not need me, but I should have seen it in her eyes; it was there, I just did not look hard enough... why did I ignore it?!" His emotions bubbled over, raging beyond containment, and the Prince slammed his fist into a wall before Thranduil caught him and held him still.
"That is enough, son! What has occurred cannot be undone; we can only do what we believe is best to repair the situation." He released Legolas, who was still breathing heavily as he got his anger and frustration under control. The younger elf massaged his abused hand and looked grumpily at the floor, steeling his heart against the crushing realization that things may not end up as happily as he had planned.
"You may ride at midday," the King instructed, and Legolas' eyes lit up as he began to grasp what his father was saying. "Gather whatever warriors you see fit to accompany you, and the Captain and the rest of Mirkwood's soldiers will follow when the storm slows." Legolas nodded, slightly less anxious that he now had orders to follow and with which he could occupy his time.
"I shall remain at the palace as you check that region thoroughly for survivors and any indication of what exactly took place." He looked sternly at his son. "Do not take any offensive measures against the culprits, Legolas. Come straight back to the palace once you have found everything you need to know - and the future princess, of course - and then we shall decide upon further action. Is that clear?"
The Prince nodded urgently. "Of course, Father. I will return as soon as possible."
"Very well," Thranduil affirmed. "Notify me when you are prepared to depart. You are dismissed." He turned abruptly and exited the room to begin his task.
* * * * *
Legolas rubbed his face with his hands in frustration, waiting for his father to finish speaking with another elf of the party. He despaired more with each flake that fell from the sky - each was just another part of the world that was trying to come between him and the love of his life. "Why did she ever leave me?" he mumbled quietly, jumping as an encouraging hand touched his shoulder.
"You can answer that when we find her." The Prince turned and saw Telmon beside him, covered in snow, much in the same way that he himself was. Calathi's appointed mount had been discovered missing during the morning's preparations, and now he could only hope that she was at Ilinar and that they would reach her in time to save her. *Save her from what?* the Prince wondered. *Herself, perhaps, her impulsiveness, her grief...* he answered himself. *But there could be worse danger...*
He shivered - not from the cold, which bothered him little. The need to find his future wife fueled his efforts, more so even than the distant town's destruction. He hadn't known the elves there, and though he grieved after the loss of his kin and the friends and relatives of Calathi, his love still took priority over everything else.
Legolas didn't care how selfish it was; his feelings for her eclipsed all others, and only one mission pervaded his consciousness - the mission to find her, protect her, and love her until the end of time... his wife, soul- mate, and the mother of his future children. He had to smile at this thought, reminiscing on all of the failed attempts to consummate their love. The intense desire to finally accomplish that was still buried within his heart, and their impending marriage, along with the opportunity to officially make her his princess, were the only things he looked forward to more.
Telmon cleared his throat, startling the Prince from his trance. After realizing that he had completely forgotten about his subordinate, Legolas sighed, his consistently proud shoulders now drooping slightly. "I am sorry, Telmon," he apologized, shaking his head. "It's just... I do not understand why she went alone." The addressed elf raised his eyebrows at his leader's antics. "She knows that I would have gone with her, if she had only spoken with me."
"Would you have, My Lord?" Telmon inquired. "Or would you have kept the Lady here in order to protect her?" Legolas bit his lip, contemplating Telmon's statement. It was true enough - who wouldn't want to keep the person most precious to them out of harm's way?
The Elven warrior knew he had reached his companion, who was now pacing slightly, and he felt sympathy for his situation. "Do not fear, your Highness." Legolas stopped moving and looked at him, blue eyes desolate. "The Lady can take care of herself."
"I pray it is so," the Prince answered. He glanced up as Thranduil made his way over.
"Is everything in place?" the King asked his son as he surveyed the company. Legolas nodded, eager to begin travel.
"Very well. You may be on your way," he consented, nodding. The Prince let out a breath and turned, but Thranduil quickly grabbed his elbow and stopped him.
"Be careful son," he advised. "Stay alert."
"I will," Legolas promised, smiling at his father. The two quickly embraced in farewell. Then he gestured forward with his hand and the entourage of warriors proceeded out of Mirkwood Palace's gate, heading toward their destination of Ilinar with the Prince leading the way.
* * * * *
The elf fell onto the snow, staring in horror at the smoke rising into the air. The homes of her people were smoldering still, the stench of death filling her nostrils and fogging her mind. How could this be all that was left? It was only ruins, ruins and ash covered by dirtied ice.
Calathi pushed herself onto one knee and slowly straightened it, standing to face the tragic site before her. But where were the townspeople? There were no bodies to be found, only the smoking remains of what had been her home.
Her stomach clenched as a thought violently erupted in her mind. Of course, it was obvious - sickeningly so. The snow on the ground was deep... deep enough to cover the corpses. Either that, or the goblins had taken their leftovers for their own sadistic pleasure and foul purposes.
*It can't be true...* Calathi hadn't wanted to believe the messenger... what was his name? She couldn't even remember correctly... but now, the evidence was at last before her, and it could no longer be denied. Her town had indeed been destroyed, along with any hope of seeing her family and friends again.
In utter anguish, she sank to the ground once more, curling up tightly and moaning, unaware of Larape's frantic whinnying. Her mother, her father... Meron... all dead. Sobs tore at the elf's lithe form as she thought of her friend. It made her all the more guilty, realizing that she was mourning his death more than the deaths of her own parents.
But it was beyond that; Calathi now knew that she had loved - still loved - Meron, even if only as a friend or brother. In her times of torment, he had been there. In her times of rare happiness, he had been there. And now, he was gone... gone with everyone she had known before life at the palace had even begun.
Her thoughts wandered as she stood, dazed and weak, and eventually turned toward Legolas... it was amazing how that one name brought a ray of light through the black fog surrounding Calathi. She needed him, needed him so badly right now; if he were there, he'd put his arms around her, cradling her against his strong form; he'd give her comfort and warmth, strength to go on.
She loved him, with all of her soul. If anything, she was obligated to survive for him. He had to have realized by then that she wasn't at the palace, and would have guessed her incentive for leaving. In all probability he was on his way to Ilinar at that very moment... it was all she could hope for, and Calathi clung to that hope with her entire being.
Wiping the freezing tears from her cheeks, she forced herself to sit up. Larape nudged her gently, as if she were encouraging her. "Valar, give me strength," she whispered before rising once more. She had to escape the nauseating scene before her, and, sadly shaking her head, she grabbed the mare's reins and helped pull her atop the snow from where she had sunken into it.
Calathi held back more tears as she made her way to the one locale that had brought her solace during her childhood years. It was her hideaway, her own secret place where she could relax and let the hours pass. Perhaps she could find enough peace to sleep, burrowed beneath one of the great oak trees that surrounded the tiny grove. But first, she needed to say her farewells to the spirits of her loved ones - and where she was going was the only place to do it.
She stepped through a patch of dense undergrowth and sighed. There it was - her little creek, frozen solid now; the forked tree, dubbed the Sitting Tree, with its branches placed perfectly to lounge on and to swing from; the young oak that had been her first hit target, then but a sapling, after Meron had been teaching her how to use a bow... and now there would be no more fond memories created in this place, because Meron had left for the halls of Mandos without her.
She looked down at her hands, clenched into fists. *The only cause of my pain is the cruelty of the goblins,* she thought bitterly. *They murder our people and destroy our homes, looting towns, burning whatever is left... It has to end.* Confusion settled in her mind. Had Mirkwood's forces not destroyed the great goblin fleet? How, with only small factions left of their army, could the goblins overcome the town's defense? *What does it matter now?* she wondered, face bleak. Her gaze drifted up again to a rock where she'd sat so often in the sun, conversing and laughing with her companion.
"Meron," she whispered, swallowing her tears, "I'm sorry I left you. You were my best friend, the only person besides my parents that cared about me." Her voice was cracking, and pleading filled her eyes as she blinked rapidly to hold in moisture. "I'm so sorry, Meron... perhaps if I had stayed, I could have helped you and everyone else... If I had only argued with my father a little more to make my point, this might not have happened."
The wind picked up a bit, flitting through the forest to greet her, and it seemed almost as if she could feel her friend's soul leaving the mortal world. His voice floated with the breeze, calling her to him. The trees themselves began to murmur to her, vaguely at first but getting clearer by the second, saying "Go, go to him... he awaits your return."
"I wish I could," Calathi replied earnestly, looking to the sky as sobs began to tear at her throat. "But I cannot; I am bound to this world through the one I love."
So many forest voices joined in the whispers that she could hardly make out what they were telling her. But understand she did - "As is he..."
Her senses were suddenly acute, and time appeared to slow. A scent in the air reached her, and she jumped forward to find its source. Beneath the Sitting Tree, the elf gently brushed the foliage aside.
"Calathi," said a weak voice. Meron, lying on his back on the snow, opened his eyes.
She took in the sight of him, surveying his appearance. A bloody strip of gray tunic had been tied loosely around his shoulder; there were red stains on his torso - one on his stomach, the other near his collar bone. A nasty, scabbing gash was stretched across his cheek, and various scratches covered his bare arms.
"Limraer, please... don't cry." Feebly, he reached his better arm up to brush her cold cheek. He smiled faintly. "I did not think I would ever see you again."
"Nor I you," she whispered, fighting to calm her frenzied heart. Reaching to her neck, she unclasped her cloak and pulled it off, brushing the snow from his body and then wrapping it tightly about him. Steeling herself, she told him, "I'm going to get my pack. I have some food for you, if you think you can keep it down, and another blanket. Then I'll get a fire started and we'll see if we can warm you up a bit." She was about to stand when he grabbed her hand.
"Don't leave... I do not wish to be alone when I pass." He smiled again. "Now that I've seen you once more, I'm ready to go." Calathi shook her head vehemently.
"No! You're going to be all right, Meron." *You have to be!*
He shook his head and a pained expression appeared on his face, as though the slight movement had aggravated his wounds. "I've only survived this long because I intuited that you would come for me."
"Do not speak of such things!" Calathi ordered sternly. His unfaltering sense of death scared the wits out of her, and she really needed them to get through this. Yanking her hand away, she jumped up and rushed to the center of the grove where Larape still stood, waiting patiently. She grabbed her pack and then sprinted back to her fallen friend, yanking out her blanket. Meron watched with pitying eyes as she laid the blanket over her cloak.
"It is too late, lovely one," he told her again, sighing. "Do not fear for me... we shall meet again."
"NO!" she shouted, refusing to give up. Tears streamed from her blurring eyes as she struggled to clear a place for the fire. She pulled brittle branches down from the tree above them, silently apologizing to the ancient body.
A small fire was crackling shortly after, and then she turned her attention back to her friend. His eyes were drooping, and she knew that time was no longer on her side. "Please, mellonamin, I need you to survive this. Do it for me..."
With a flourish Calathi grabbed her cloak from underneath the blanket and began tearing it into strips with the help of her dagger. "I'll never forgive myself if you die because I forgot bandages," she muttered to herself, pouring the energy from her anger and frustration into the task.
A pile of cloth strips on the snow beside her, Calathi reached toward her friend and carefully cut the blood-stained fabric around his shoulder, peeling it back slowly. She grimaced when she saw that a deep gash ran along his collar bone and partway down his arm. It was bleeding freely again, and she hurriedly wrapped it tightly to lessen the flow of the sickening red liquid.
Lifting his tunic up to his shoulders, she examined the injuries on his chest. Calathi gasped when she saw that the flesh around the incisions was torn, a telltale sign that an arrow had been crudely pulled from his body. Pushing away an overwhelming sense of vertigo, she dug into the snow on both sides of Meron's body and found solid evidence to prove her suspicions true.
In her hand, as she lifted it from the snow, were two coarse arrows, bloody a quarter of the way up their long shafts from the tips. "You pulled them out yourself, didn't you, Meron?" she whispered, pained at the thought of her friend braving such torment. Shaking her head, she threw the arrows away from her and pulled her blanket over the unconscious elf.
Not much was left for the maiden to do, as the wounds on Meron's collar and stomach had ceased bleeding already, though she wrapped more of her cloth strips around his torso to prevent them from reopening. Her knowledge of healing verses was limited and would serve as little use to the injured elf. Still, when she checked his breathing and found it scarcely perceptible, she knew that every effort made a difference.
With one last prayer to Estë, spouse of Irmo and healer of hurts and weariness, she knelt before her dying companion and opened her mind to his pain, accepting it as her own. "Hold on, mellonamin..." she murmured before crumpling over him, trembling as she muttered the short healing chants that she could remember. *Hold on...*